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Lines written by 

HENRY H. O'BRIEN 

during his illness. 



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EASTER DAY. 







"To a Friend." 
O sweetest Day! O brightest Day! 

Of all the Cliristian Year ! 
O D; y when our victorious Lord 

Brought Heaven to Earth so near ! 

O sweetest Hope ! O brightest Hope ! 

Of all our hopes the best ! 
O Hope whose glad fruition shall 

Be perfect peace and rest ! 

Then may this Day e'er bring to you 

Comfort without alloy ! 
And be this Hope, through all j-our life 

An ever present joy! 

For if the Day with its great hope 

Your heart and life inspire, 
Then every day shall be more blest. 

And every hope brought higher, 

Till earthly days shall end,— and you 

Th' Eternal Day be given, 
When every hope shall grow into 

Its perfect fruit in Heaven. 



o 



EASTER. 



Ring ! Ring ! ye joyous bells ! 

It is the Easter Day ! 
Jesus, the Christ, has left the tomb : 

The stone is rolled away ! 

Let no more tears be shed 

That Fr.day last he died : 
The Sweetest, Holiest One of all, 

By sinners cruciiied. 

Forget the Crown of thorns, 

Forget the bitter shame; 
Forg. t the cruel moc Mug crowd! 

The Lord is risen again ! 

Keep flowers around the Altar, 

The fairest j'ou may get, 
From glorious japouica 

To simple violet. 

Wreath crosses for the chancel 

As many as you may. 
But hang o'er every cross a crown, 

For this is Easter Day! 

And let the little children 
Their gratefu' offerings bring. 

Of flowers and happy songs of praisei 
To their victorious King I 

O bring them to the Font ; — 
Where here, he loved th' m most, — 

Baptize them in the Father's I^ame, 
And Son and Holy Ghost. 



/ 



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And ye who at the Altar 
Stand ministering to day, 

Forget all other things for this, 
That Christ has ope'd the way. 

O tell again to day. 

The wondrous story tell 
How Christ the Blessed Lord of Life, 

Has conquered death so well. 

For if he is"not risen, 

Then is your preachirjg rain; 
'Tis Christ that died on Calvary; 

Yea, rather rose again. 

Then ring ye Easter bells! 

King out the gladdest strain 
That ever fell on mortal ear, 

Since death through Adam came. 

Eing on ! And may your tones 

As ne'er before proclaim 
How all who trust the Risen Lord 

Through Him shall rise again. 



1) 



NOTHING IN MY HAND I BRING. 



Nothing in my hand I bring, 
Simply to thy cross I cling; 
Thine the burden and the pain, 
Thine the everlasting gain. 

Thine the great humility : — 
Nothing can I do or be, 
Only on thy strength depend, 
Thou my great and only friend. 

Thine to triumph over pain, 
Life and hope for me to gain; 
Me all lost in sinfulness. 
All undone but for thy grace. 

Thine the bitter weary hours. 
All of Satan's hellish powers 
'Gainst thy human soul arrayed 
In the deserts dreadful shade. 

Thine the glorious victory 
Thine to con:iuer then for me ; 
When that battle thou didst win 
Thou didst conquer sin — my sin. 

Thin? the bloody sweat and prayer 
In the garden's midnight air; 
Thine the bitterness to know, 
Trusted friend was now tliy foe. 

Thine the pain, the sconi, the loss. 
Thine the Agony,— the Cross ! 
Mine the peace and rest to fee', — 
Low before that Cross to kneel. 



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Thine to break the graves dark power 
In thy ■Resurrection hour ! 
Thine most gloriously to rise 
To those mansions in the skies. 

Thine to intercede for me ; 
Mine to humbly wait on Thee 
Nothing in my hand I bring, 
Simply to thy Cross I cling. 



TO REV. WILLIAM WALKER. 



15 



Christmas Eve. 
The hj^mns are sung, the prayers are said, 

The solemn joj'fal sei-vice o'er ; 
With reverent hearts we've bowed us low, 

Before the Saviour^we adore. 

We've heard the grand old story told 
Of how that Saviour left the sky. 

And came and dwelt with us on earth, 
To live, to suffer, and to die, — 

That we, through His great work of love, 
Might leave our lives of sin and strife; 

And learn the one true way to live 
Of Him, our Way and Truth and Life. 

We've thanked our God for all his gifts 
That come to us in measure full ; 

And most of all, this Christmas eve 
For Him, His gift, unspeakable. 



o 



The Peace of God ! These blessed word* 
Our kneeling form and bended head, 

That mind us of the Prince of Peace, 
In reverent accents have been said. 

And now that words of prayer and praise 
For this blest festal eve are done, 

Before we part us for the night, 
To our dear Rector's home we come ;— 

To spend with him a pleasant hour 
Of talk and laughter, gay and bright ; 

Tor words of joy and merriment 
Are fitting on this Christmas night ; — 

When happiness fills every heart, 
That beats in every Christian home 

Throughout the whole broad world, because 
The Christ, its blessed King has come ; 

And say to him, how much we owe 
To him, whose labors seelc to bring 

Each one of us, in woi-d and deed, 
To own and serve this Saviour King. 

And tell him that our grateful love, 
Our warmest wishes, ne'er shall cease 

For him, who strives to lead his flock 
In paths of pleasantness and peace. 

Our Saviour King ! Before we part, 
One priceless boon of Thee we pray; 

When, in thy glorious majesty, 
Thou on that last and dreadful day, — 

Shall come again to judge the world, 

May we, a happy blessed band, 
Be counted fit, through Thy sweet grace 

To meet once more, at Thy right band. 



1) 



IN MEMORIAM. 



To Mrs. A. O. Burgess. 
Thty te'l me that your youngest child, 

The darling of the household band, 
Has gone from you, — God loves her so, 

He's called her to the "Better Land." 

I know she was a pleasant child. 
She had a beaming, happy fiice; 

I always loved to see her smile, 
So full of sweetness aud of grace. 

I know her absence from your midst 
Must be a great and constant pain, 

And more and more each day, you feel 
She'll never come to you again; — 

But has the c'oud, though dark it seems. 
No silver side on which to dwell? 

Can you not trust the untold love. 
Of Him, "Wlio doeth all things well"? 

And feel, that though, on earth, your child 
■Within your arms shall no more rest, 

'Tis well with her, and well with you. 
Because God's time is always best? 

I pray and trust this blessed faith 
To your poor heart's already given, 

And that, what now you Inow in part. 
You feel you'll wholly know in Heaven. 

In that near home, j'our grief shall turn 

To blessedness without alloy; 
For they who sow in bitter tears, 

Shall surely reap in sweetest joy. 



J)) 



LILIES OF THE VALLEY. 



"Consider the lilies." 
There came to me when worn with pain, 

A time of trial deep ; 
I could not feel my Father's band, 

My faith was very weak. 

A friend, not knowing what he did, 
Save that he thought them sweet, 

A simple bunch of lilies brought, 
My restless eyes to greet. 

Oh! good aud wonderful to tell, 
These simple flowers brought 

A message to my sinking heart 
With holiest comfort fraught. 

For did not He, who spoke as man 

Ne'er speak before, declare 
How Solomon in all his pride 

Was not arrayed so rare 

As one of these? And will not Rod, 
Who clothes the meadows thus, 

Within his loving watchful care 
Still keep each one of us? 

And so my heavy heart grew light ; 

I knew I'd done Him wrong ; 
I felt once more my Father's hand 

My faith again grew strong. 



TO NETTIE O'B. MASTERS. 



On the death of lier sister Susie. 
'Tis less than three short years ago, 

It seems to rae btit y st rday 
Since, grieving much, you told me then, 

Your brother's boy had passed away 

From him, and from the gentle arms 
That held him always to her side, 

As only Mother's arms can hold 
The darling of her joy and pride ; 

And begtfed that I some strengthening word, 
Some word of comfort and of hope. 

Would speai» to that poor Mother's heart. 
For that her heart was almost broke. 

And now the tidings come that she. 
That Mother true, whosr wasting breath. 

You've watch'd thro' anxious days and nights, 
Is still, and white, and cold in death. 

Oh ! It is true that God alone 
Can tel! the greatness of your pain. 

As deeper still the truth comes home 
That never more, on earth your name 

Shall tremble on those pleasant lips. 
And never more that earnest gaze 

Meet yours in kindly sympathy. 
As in the precions by gone days. 

Yes, they are past— the unselfish act. 
The word of counsel wise and true. 

And all her sweet companionship. 
Who more than sister was to you. 



c 



1 think I imow how tired you are 
How almost tempted to despair, 

And looking at your cross, to say 
'lis harder far than you can bear. 

But turning, round its heavy weight, 
Are there no flowers for you to see ? 

Our Lord is loving wise and good, 
May not you trust him perfcct'y? 

And know 'twas right that He should caU 
Your friend from out his earlhly home, 

Because He saw 'twas best for her 
To take her from the "ill to come." 

Or that, perhaps, He saw your love 

Forge; the Giver in His gift; 
And when betook that gift above. 

To His own self, your !ove to lift. 

But one thing is as sure as he: ven ; 

And your poor heart, may count it so, 
What e'er the purpose was, 'tis true 

That love and mercy ruled the blow. 

I sometimes think how it must grieve 
Our Father, when, in His wise love, 

He sends us what He sees We need 
To fit us for the life above; — 

And we, too ignorant and blind. 
To understand His gracious will. 

Trust Him our best and truest friend 
As though He'd meant to do us ill. 

"Were he not inflnite in love. 
And tenderest pity for our sin, 

Were he not God Himself, I think 
Our conduct would dishearten Him. 



But He is so long suffering, 
So patient with us, in our pride. 

So ready, when we turn to Him, 
His loving arms to open wide, 

I wish and pray, this pricelesss truth 
Way fill your soul with peace and rest, 

However dark and strange, it srems 
That His own time is always best. 

Ycur fiif nd is now forever safe 

From disappointment, grief and sin, 
From all life's pain and weariness 
And safe, oh joy of joys, with Him. 

The boy who grows more beautiful. 
More sweet and loving every day ; 

For now his school's in Paradise, 
And heavenly teachers guide his way. 

Is it not sweet to think of them 
Together in that grand abode, 

Growing each day more pure and strong, 
Living their perfect life with God? 

That upward, onward, glorious lile. 
So full, and broad, and grand, and true; 

That life in which you too may join. 
Through Grace of Him who died for you. 

The world is dark and empty now. 
And you are sick of al its pain; 

But it would seem so different 
Could you but wholly trust His name. 

Who turns our bitter into sweet. 
Our sorrows into blessings bright; 

Who makes a life that else would be 
A burden, one of cheerful light; 



Who e'er can fill our sufie rings with 
Himself, as all their paih t' alla.v, 

And mate them foremost stepping stones 
To help us on the hi^avenward way. 

With this siire anchor to your soul, 
Y,pur future life ma}- not be dark, 

"With those who love you, those you lore, 
To occupy your mind and heart. 

In serving them, and others too, 
Your busy days shall soon be gone; 

And e'en before you've thought of it. 
You may have reached the Heavenly home. 

I think, if e'er we're counted fit 
That home, through Christ, to enter in. 

How strange, how very strange 'twill seem 
We evei could have doubted Him '. 

O trust His love, and seek the Grace, 
To all wh ) seek s ' gladly given; 

Then calmly, brightly, wait the time 
When you shall greet your friend in Heaven. 



c 



I 



^ 



to a beautiful silver tea 
service:' 

Which had not seen the light for morethaa.a 
quarter of a iOentttsryv— 



D 



Beautiful old service ! Delicious heir-loom i 
What thoughts and emotions thou briug'stto our 
mind 
Of fhe days that are past, and the friends who are 
gone, 
And thou, in thy beauty, stiU stayest- behind ; — 

The new generations to greet, as they come. 
And tell them the tale of the past and its glory; 

How eloquent art thou, in thy form and rich age 
How wondrous the shadows and lights of the 
story ! 

Through the darkness and silence .of long time 
thou has slept, 
O what were thy dreams in those tong rolling 
years? 
Day and night dids't thou long for the world and 
its life ! 
For its hopes and its shadows, its joys and its 
tears ? 

Didst thou long once again for the family board, 
When around it the forms dear and loving were 
drawn, 
At the bright hours of evening, to give forth thy 
good cheer. 
To welcome the new <»nes,rrth€ J»st lones to 
mourn. 



▲a we hail thee to-day from our hearts we salute 
Her, whose board thou didst grace when last 
thou wast seen; 
She has gone,— but perhaps, in the land where she 
lives. 
She remembers the brightness and grace of thy 
sheen. 

Down deep in our heart? is a great wish to-day; — 
■When they who succeed us shall list to thy tale 

Of us, thou canst tell them a story as grand 
As thou tellest of her who has entered the vail. 

Beautiful old Service ! Delicious heir-loom! 

How priceless thou art in thy richness and grace 
O Ir.ug maist th.v missi )u be whal it is now, 

To cheer and brightni each coming new race. 

Thomaston, August 6th, 1879. 



Of. 



LINES ON THE RECEIPT OF 
TWELVE LITTLE I'LA'rES. 



Painted by Mrs. Lizzie Andrews. 
Twelve painted little Plates ! 

Twelve charming little plates! 
Such variety in the design; 

No two of them are mates. 

Here are violets so real. 
To me they seem to bring 

The almost nameless charmiu^ness 
Of the woods in early Spring; 

And sweet forget-me-nots, 
. How tenderly they lie 
Upon the china soft white face, 
As blue as bluest sky. 



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I've read, an angel once 
To forget-me-nots gave birth, 

By bits of sky in sunbi'ams dipped, 
Theu dropped them ou the earth. 

And daisies fair to see 

And butter cups so gay. 
And liere's a golden butterfly 

Wending his flowery way. 

Amongst the sinibeams b ight, 

A flower he has met 
What he has souglit for all his life, 

An English violet! 

How happy his short life 
How b ight his sunn}- way, 

He's really nothing else to do 
But revel all the day. 

And sweet arbutus too 

On the ground trailing so low 
How charming it surpiises one 

Peeping through the snow. 

And here's a little boy 

With such a curly head 
All filled with grief because the boys 

Have spoiled his garden bed. — 

'Twas bright in you I think 
When y ju saw his curly pate 

Upon a little story page, 
Xo put it on a plate. 

So if my days be many, 

Or if they be but few, 
I'll have these charming little plates 

To miud me aye of you. 



IN MEMORIAM. 



(( 



To Mrs. Augusta Goudy. 
I count myself as having gained 

A wondrous joy, 
In having seen and known and lored 

Your gracious boy. 

He was in truth a gracious boy, 

■Winsome and sweet; 
He had a noble loving heart, 

For Heaven meet. 

So meet that He, the Lord, who when 

He lived with men, 
Too'k little children in his arms, 

And said of them,— 

Like these the heavonly cues; forbid 

Them not to coinc ; 
Looked down, and loved him too, so well. 

He called him home. 

Home! Home! O what a wealth of words 

Is in this one ! 
All safe from pain and grief and harm 

Your boy's at home. 

And you may thiiilf of him the same 

As when on earth, 
As full of joy and winsomeness. 

And pleasant mirth ; — 

But loving you with tenfold powers. 

Because, above. 
The Saviour teaches all his lambs 

The way to love. 

Henceforth this thought shall fill your heart 

With untold joy. 
And Heaven shall be more dear, because 

It holds your boy. 



f 



\ 



DO I REMEMBER IT! 



Do I remember it? Ah me,— 

I miud so well its every look ! 
The dear old birch, whose branches cast 
Such pleasant shadows o'er the brook. 

The broo'>- that was our meeting place, 
In those bright far off sunny days ; 

The birch that sheltered us in showers. 
Or from the sun's too glowing rays. 

The birch, that saw our merry sport 
1 he brook, when merry sport was done, 

Mingled it's music with our tales, 
And prophecies of days to come; 

On whose bright waters danced our bark. 
By favoring winds swept on their way ; 

I think wi 've never made a voyage 
So gay as voyages of those days. 

And then when sport, and chat, and song, 
For the long afternoon were done. 

How glad we were to go again 
Back to our Mother and our home. 

For, after all, I think, as dear 

As were the charming birch and brook 
Those summer twilights spent at home 

Beneath oui Mother's cherished look, 

"Were to our hearts the sweetest thing 
Ihat ever has or could be given; 

For then our Mother told to us 
Such wondrous tales of God and Heaven. 



O yes, the birch and brook and all 
The sweetness of the air and sky 

"Were lovely things, but still I doubt 
If we had counted them so high. 

But for the thought, that underneath 
The fun and frolic, gay and light, 

Kept nestling at our hearts all day, 
Of the home that waited us at night. 

Is it not thus in later life? 

Could all we ask to us be given, 
Would not life still be drear, without 

The certainty of home,— of heaven? 

Oh it is true that all the joys 
Of earth, are only shadows dim 

Of the gloi-ies that await all those 
Who have that home to enter in. 

But my wandering thoughts are far 
From where they were in the early day — 

Do I remember still the tree. 
The old birch tree and the brook, alway? 

They have a sure place in my mind. 
And vou see, to-day, now from it rise 

Thoughts of the blessed trees t'lat live, 
And streams that flow in Paradise. 



L 



A BREAKFAST CONVERSATION. 



At Miss C. D. Fuller's. 
An era bright has ncwl}- dawned ; — 

One now receives an iuvitatioa 
Not to a dinner, (stupid thing!) 

But to a Breakfast I'ouversation; 

Has dawned upon old Thomaston, 
The quaintest place in all the nation; 

I never thought to see the day, 
When, so late a thing as conversation 

Should come into our social life. 
So ahva}-? free from innovations. 

So all the more I h lil with joy 
These charming Breakfast Conversations. 

Were wishes legs, and strength, and health, 
I'd have the greatest consilation, 

By sitting at this Breakfast board, 
And joining iu the "Conversaiion." 

But since this good thing may not be, 

I'll have my compensation; 
If I cannot see, I'd hear and feel 

Your "Breakfast Conversation." 

You'll talk of art and science too, 

And much of education, 
Of authors and their latest books. 

At this Breakfast Conversation, 

You'll touch upon the Concord School, 

Not to its condemnation. 
It's wisdom, wit, and freshness will 

Inspire your "Convei-sation." 



c 



You'll not forget George EUiot's 

Most recent publication ; 
Its name's so odd, e'en though inspired 

By this Breakfast Conversation, 

I can't, to save my life, arrive 

At its right pronuciation ; 
But I warrant you'll not forget the book, 

At this Breafkast Conversation. 

To all that's new in literature. 

Give your interpretation — 
Let it be a time of delicious wit, — 

This Breakfast Conversation. 

A time of wit and wisdom too. 

In graceful combination, 
Let prose aud poetry equal rule 

This Breakfast Conversation. 

You'll talk our country's politics. 

Of Sherman's last oration ; 
Of dollars hard, and priuciples soft. 
At this Breakfast Conversation. 

You'll mention Europe's politics; 

With a little iudignatiou. 
You'll speak of that Jew on English throne, 

At this "Brea.fast Conversation." 

You'll not forget that good old king, 

Who rules the German nation. 
And wish him life, s nd health : nd strength. 

At this Breakfast Conversation. 

Italia's King— his name will wake 

Your deep commiseratio:i, 
You'll have a word for his lovely Queen, — 

At your Breakfast Conversation. 



€ 



I 



) 



Give all that's noble good and true 

Honest congratulation, — 
Give every cause that's good, a lift, 

At this "BreaKfast Conversation." 

And all that's bad and mean and small, 
Your hearty condemnation ; — 

May the widest, sweetest charity ru'e. 
This Breakfast Conversation. 



LINES ON THE FREE BRIDGE. 



Our town was fair to look upon, 
Its streets were broadly laid ; 

Our elms the pridi of all who lived 
Beneath, their pleasant shade. 

We thought our dwellings had an air 

Of comfort and of taste, 
An air that spake their owners given 

To thrift, and not to waste. 

The places where our young became 

In learning's laws adept. 
To fit them for their work in life. 

Were wisely built and kept. 

Our churches, too, whose tapering spires 

Rose solemnly to heaven, 
Were reared as if the people felt 

Their wealth to them well given. 

Our ships, I know they had the name. 

Both here and o'er the sea, 
Of being strong and soundly built 

As any there might be. 



\ 



And vrho, that wandered much around 

Our country, far and near, 
Of goodly lime from Thomaston 

Failed, ever yet to hear? 
I mention all these things to show 

Our great prosperity. 
And that our people liked a course 

All generous and free. 
Free? Ah that word reminds one of 

The object of my song, — 
We had a great, a crying shame, 

Wed suffered far too long. 
It was a shame that such a blot 

Should rest on this fair town, 
A toll bridge in our "Centennial year"! — 

Men rose to put it down. 
And others fought against the plan; — 

And one there was, so lost 
To common decency, he said 

Ihe schools should pay the cost, 
If this reform weie carried out. 

And all our avenues 
Were freely opened, so that all 

Might come to us who'd choose. 
O shame again that such an one 

Should dared to have the face, 
To speak or even think the thing, 

ho mean and small and base ! 
But our best men, who'd ne'er been given 

To unwise greed of gold. 
Said of the nuisance of the past 

Its knell should now be tolled. 
They kept their word — and bravely too ; 

O 'twas a glorious sight 
When the conquerers from the Capital 

Came marching from the fight. 



r 



IN MEMORY OF TMISS HANNAH 
TILLSON. 



A brave strong patient life has gone 

From out our siglit ; 
We may not mourn for her,— our loss 

Is her delight. 

If God had willed; she'd gladly staid 

Amongst us still ; 
She had no choice, but left it all 

To His Own Will. 

For our poor selves, our poor left selves, 

We fain would weep. 
The cordial sympathizing friend, 

The spirit sweet ; — 
The mind so cultured, so refined; 

The grea' heart, too, 
So full of sweetest charity 

For all she knew ; 
The gifts that God had given to her,— 

She felt them lent,— 
Were used to render all her life 

Beneficent. 

I think her gift of verse, was not 

A common kind ; 
It seemed to germ within her heart 

More than her mind. 



Her words to her pure sense of right 

Were always true ; 
And then her Terses were so sweet 

So quaint and n ;w. 

I think we may not see her like, 

Too soon on Earth; 
Of minds, and hearts, and lives, like her's 

Thera is a dearth, 

We wait to meet her where she's gained 

The promised rest ; — 
The memory of her life shall make 

That waiting blest. 



ENTERED INTO HIS REST. 



In Memoriam, H. H. O'B. 
Rest at last; with pale hands folded, — 

Freed from pain, so calm he lies, — 
In a smile the stil^ lips moulded. 

As when on his raptured eyes, 

Dawned the light of P.iradise. 

Best at last; though long and dreary 
Seemed the years in suffering spent, — 

Yet his spirit ne'er grew weary. 
And a heavenly content 
Still with aji bis anguish blent. 

Rest at 'ast ; in quiet sleeping 
Underneath the daisied sod. 

This the thought that stills our weeping; 
Though so hard the path he trod. 
Now he knows the Peace of God. 

Sept. 1881. Lucy D. Babnabd. 



L 



^ 



OBITUAKY. 

On Sunday last, Sspt. 25th all that was mortal 
ot Henry H. O'Brien waa coasignsd to its last 
resting p]ac=, in Elm Cemetfry, Th.rnaston, witli 
the rites of the Episo .pal Ciiurch, of which he 
was a n)emb<»r, Mr. O'Brien, who wis Ibe young- 
est son of the late John O'Brien E>q., had been 
an mvaliil for many yeari?. For eishteen ypars 
he had been a constant suflferer, and for the 1 i-t 
seven had been confined to bis berl. The List two 
ye;ir8 had reduce'l him to an almost helpl\es con. 
dition. and one of intensest agony. But through 
all th's terrible martx nlom of piin nnd weariness 
which to merely human eyes hail uothine in it 
but evil, he presprved the i atience au'l subuis- 
Bion <.f a child guided by his Father's Invfng hand. 
And as the years advanced and the weary days 
and st'll more weary nights were only looked for 
as aprolougUiou of his suffering, his firm and 
steadfast reliance on the lov of God, who per- 
mitted such a trial, wis only deepened and made 
more intense. The perfect trust, wiih hich he 
resigned himself into the hands of his loviog Sav- 
ior was the prominent grpce for which he had 
•ought and prayed so earnestly, and which 
strength was given him to confess so sweetly to 
thos« abouthim. Ruflfering hart indeed made him 
purer, and bound him to his suflferine Master, by 
a bond of love, and trembling hope, that, as that 
Master had thnuglit him worthy of so nearly fol- 
lowing Him, He would finally receive him to a vis- 
Jon of His own glory and beauty. But there was 
no undue wish to hasten the time; oily to wait 
God's will, and be cultivating in himself the 
spirit of meekness, until the angels should waft 
his soul to Paradise. 
Laid away thus on a bed of sickness, his life 



wai BO usrleBi one, nor were the talents that had 
been still spared to him, allowed to be idle; but 
constantly he sought to stir up in others a lOTe of 
that same hand that had been so heavily, and as 
he firmly believed, bo lovingly laid on him, Mr. 
O'Brien's IntereBt in everything about him re- 
mained undimiuisbed to the last. And the affec- 
tionate inquiry ever testified to the unbounded 
love that went out aftet- others in all that inter- 
ested them. The beauties of art and nature still 
were a delight, and he diew lessons of comfort 
and hope from the fair flowers, that Ood who had 
BO clothed the lilies of the field would keep His 
children with His watchful care. Many were the 
sweet words of verse that went from his bedside 
out to others, that they might catch the inspira- 
tion of his cheerfulrifSB, and wil'ingnrss to suffer. 
How profitable was the time of waiting madt I It 
■wai^ not the mere reception of the suffering be- 
cause it could not be helped, but a thorough ac- 
ceptance of it, and a daily seeking to strenffthen 
the aspirations of his ^oul after the higlier life, 
that he might make the words < t the P^almist his 
own: — ''Like as tlie heart desireth the water 
brooks, so longeth my soul after Thee, O God. 
The writer of this notice, who had been frequently 
with Mr, O'Brien during the last five years, can 
with thankfulness recall ihe sweetness and purity 
of his character, and the constant anxiety lest a 
cowardly fear sliould make him wish too eagerly 
for a release. No christian Martyr at the stake, 
or in the arena ever endured more faithfully than 
he, and these words will express his realization of 
the m^-stery o suffering: — 
Well to suffer is divine: 
Pass the watcbward down the line. 
Pass the countersign "lindure." 

Not to him who rashly dares, 
But to him who nobly bears, 
Is the victor's garland sure. 
And the foUowinjj words by Faber, of whose 
hymns he was very fonrl, will give evpression to 
bis ever increaf iiig humility: — 

"And I would pass in silence, Lord; 

No brave word^t on my lips, 
Lest pride should cloud my soul, and I 
Should die in an eclispe." 

W. W. 
8ep>t. 26th, 1881. 



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